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by thedevilchicken



Category: American Werewolf in London (1981)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Denial, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: They always go back to East Proctor.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



These days, they're traveling the world again. 

It helps that Jack's parents are filthy rich and the trashy travelogs David writes make actual money, otherwise they might have to get real jobs and not just spend their days seeing sights and their nights lingering in expensive restaurants and shitty bars. They've been ticking countries off of a map for nine years. The list of places they haven't been is still longer than the ones they have, but they're doing pretty well.

In a lot of ways, it's like being back in that year after college, backpacking Europe to broaden their horizons before moving on and growing up or some such bullshit. Jack had no firm plans, sure, but David had a place waiting for him at a pretty prestigious law school. Of course, he never got to take that up. Other things got in the way.

So, now they travel. They go to Rome once a year because Jack says he finds it inspiring and David points out every time how he doesn't actually do anything that requires inspiration, but they always go anyway. They go to Paris, Tokyo, Buenos Aires. They've taken polaroids at the pyramids and the Taj Mahal and the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum, the Kremlin, the Hague, goofy grins on their faces like all the other tourists. Then they go home and they tack the photos up on the kitchen wall with the dates scrawled on the back of them, their life in shitty photography. 

They travel a lot. They live out of suitcases for weeks at a time but, at least one week out of every four, they're home again. In the end, they always go back to East Proctor. It's the only place they know that's safe. Right now, they're back there again.

It's actually not so bad once you get used to the place. Okay, so it's windswept and isolated and there's times the locals make no sense at all, but it's not like New York makes all that much more sense sometimes. The house gets cold enough in the winter that it doesn't really matter that the electricity goes out if you so much as look at it the wrong way - the refrigerator won't work, but the whole place is kinda like a refrigerator. They go through more candles than a Catholic church, and their parents keep asking if they've grown out of it yet and if maybe they'll come back, but it's home. 

David guesses they could leave if they really wanted to. There's a five-pointed star drawn in lamb's blood on the back of the front door (David's mom keeps threatening to visit; this is why she can't) and there's another downstairs in the cellar, and they know the words to say to make them potent; in turns out the star will keep a werewolf inside a place as well as out of one and, if you do it right, it'll make it so they won't change at all. They don't even need chains. David really thought they'd need chains, but Jack says that was just his dirty mind talking.

They could paint a star up on the door anywhere, David thinks, but East Proctor is a kind of failsafe; if the magic ever gets screwed up and they get out, they should really only be a danger to the livestock - after all, it was just dumb luck they were ever out on the moors in the first place because basically nobody else is. And the people there will keep their secret because it's their secret, too. There are other wolves in East Proctor. There've been wolves there for centuries. It's in their blood.

Of course, the star on the door can't contain it all. The power in it can't change the fact that he and Jack are werewolves, as dumb as that still sounds to him, and for a few nights a month they really feel it. They buy some good steak in from the village butcher and they cook it just long enough that it's still bloody on the inside even though the rest of the month, that would make David sick - he's a well done kind of guy even though Jack tells him he's insulting the poor cow. Then they play cards or they try to watch a movie on the VCR or Jack pours them both a drink and they talk about that time they spent spring break in Acapulco, but they can _feel_ it. They can feel it even if they pretend they can't. 

When the full moon's high, and they're locked up in the house though who needs keys when the star might as well be a deadbolt, they look at each other a little like fresh meat. They look at each other a little like it's hard to look away. There was always something between them, David guesses, like spring break in Acapulco when they woke up naked in the same bed and then tried to laugh it off, or nights back in college when they made out in Jack's room and blamed it on the vodka afterwards. Now, they can blame it on lycanthropy. 

"You're staring," Jack says, over the top of his book. The irony of that being he was staring, too. He's been doing it for the last twenty minutes, give or take, and David's been waiting.

"I am?" David asks, his smile not even trying for innocent.

"You're practically salivating. Try to remember you're not the Big Bad Wolf." He raises his eyebrows significantly. "And I'm sure as shit not Red Riding Hood." 

"Y'know, I do kinda feel like I could swallow you whole..." 

Jack snickers. David stands; Jack stops snickering but he still looks amused and David goes down on his knees on the floor in front of him. He unbuttons Jack's jeans and Jack's already hard underneath them, which is somehow never a surprise. He lifts his hips and David yanks his jeans over his hips and Jack practically tears off his shirt - they learned to wear stuff they don't care about while they're home years ago because somehow they've never gotten to the point where they can just hang out together naked. Plausible deniability, David guesses; they can say they didn't expect it if they don't plan for it. 

David looks up at him from his knees just for a second before he leans in and licks the tip of Jack's cock. He laps at it, his palms flat to the inside of Jack's knees, pushing them apart; his tongue against it makes it bob in the air and he likes the mobility of it, how he can nudge him with his mouth or his nose or his cheek and make him move before he wraps his hand around him and holds him firm in place. He licks his lips and then he pushes the head of it against them, pushes it in past them, and Jack groans, almost keens, almost wolf-like but then again maybe not. Jack runs his fingers into David's hair. Jack looks down as David sucks him and David's burning up, too, maybe from the open fire they've been sitting there in front of and maybe something else, but he keeps his clothes on, sweating into them, so Jack can tear them off of him later.

Usually, at the full moon, they go all night - they go for hours, till the moon sets and they lie there exhausted. Most of the time, they make it to the bedroom, and sometimes Jack fucks him, on his knees, over the dresser, shoved up against the bedroom wall. Sometimes Jack just rubs himself between David's thighs until he comes like that or David sucks his dick and Jack returns the favor because he can't not do it - the star on the door doesn't change the fact they're animals under their skin. Maybe they don't change, not physically - there's no fangs and no claws and no excessive body hair that no level of wax would deal with - but a few nights every month it's still there. 

A few nights every month, they can't help themselves. And it's good, it's _really_ good, because David knows that even if they'd've moved on tried to forget all the boozed-up handjobs if they hadn't wound up here, he always wanted it. He always wanted Jack, with his smart mouth and his talent for making people love him and hate him both at the exact same time. A few nights a month, they can't help themselves, but it's the night before the full moon that David always prefers. That's when, sometimes, just sometimes, Jack pretends he can't help himself, even though he could, and David plays along. He prefers nights like tonight.

They share hotel rooms all around the world, twin rooms, twin beds, staying up late talking about the things they've seen during the day, fountains and ruins and paintings and the kind of shitty modern art David's pretty sure Jack only pretends he likes because he knows David doesn't get it. Sometimes, after too much wine or one too many vodkas, Jack gives him a sloppy blowjob and falls asleep on the bathroom floor like they're back in college. Then they go home. It's not tough to see why David prefers the other times.

Jack drags him up from his knees, so he can kiss him. Jack drags him up so he can push him back down on the rug in front of the fire, and they don't have to do it. They just want to. 

They always go back to East Proctor. It's where they belong now, and they belong there together. One of these days, Jack will work that out, and he'll see David knew all along.


End file.
